Sapphires and Coals
by Jubalii
Summary: In the early ages of civilization, a blacksmith's mistake is the catalyst for a life or death decision. Taken of her own free will, a young maiden surrenders her life to a demonic entity. Can she survive, or will she be thrown to the flames? Perhaps all is not as it seems in this superstitious era of fairytales and magic.
1. The Blacksmith's Niece

**Any affiliation I have with the following fandom is entirely nonprofit.  
** (I'm going to start running out of "I don't own it" one liners sooner or later...)

* * *

Once upon a time, long ago, before the Americas were colonized, before the Tudors sat on the throne of England, before the War of the Roses, before the Black Death spread across the land and seas, back during a time when the fairytales of today were real events that spread from town to town and were whispered around hearths….a baby girl came into being.

She was born in Eagle-bend, a bustling township that was a mere two day's journey from Oxford, and situated beside a bend in the mighty river that ran near most of the villages dotting the countryside. Her father was a well-to-do merchant, one of the few freemen of the town. She was his first child, born on a cold December's day. He and his wife were overjoyed at the birth, and they christened her Seras in hopes that she would grow strong and beautiful.

For a while, they lived in happiness together. But when the seasons began to change, disease swept through the town. Some said the town was blighted by a witch who had been wronged in some way. Others said it was God's divine judgment on the unrighteous. Still others claimed it had been brought by the gypsies that had trundled through the countryside that winter. But whatever the reason, it came.

Death did not discriminate that spring. Hale and hearty, old and feeble, young and helpless; all succumbed and died alike, and the church's graveyard quickly became an overflowing ground of corpses as the gravediggers also fell prey. In the end, the bustling township was no longer so bustling, as over half the population now lay in the thawed earth.

The babe found herself an orphan, as her mother and father both passed in a fortnight, within three days of each other. The survivors of the illness had no need for a squalling child, and the local clergy scrambled to find someone to care for her. Then, by an act of Providence, an old widow remembered that the merchant had been the younger of two brothers, and the elder had plied his blacksmithing trade in the nearby village of Victoria—a half-day's journey from Eagle-bend on foot.

Thankfully, illness had not spread to Victoria, and the clergy found to their relief that Tobias of Victoria was alive and well. The local parish priest replied to their queries with a letter explaining that Tobias had been deeply grieved at the news of his brother's untimely demise, and had expressed fervently that he wanted the babe to be brought to him. His marriage was a barren one, and he and his wife had always longed for a child.

The clergy wholeheartedly agreed to send the child. A blacksmith would be able to provide for a growing girl, and surely God would temper mercy with judgment. For what joy could come of this tragedy, if two childless people were able to bring love to an orphan girl? So they sent word back and the parish priest arranged to ride personally up to the town and collect the small girl.

The blacksmith was a broad man, muscled and smeared with soot from head to toe. It collected in his beard and mixed with his sweat to create a thick grayish sludge that smudged everything he touched. When he collected the child from the priest, her cheeks were instantly dyed a murky, sooty color. She smiled up at him with big blue eyes, and he felt his heart swell. He took her home to his wife, and they loved her dearly from the day she entered the door of their one-room cottage.

But though their years were happy, a fate encounter soon changed Seras' tides once more.

* * *

"Can't I go with you, Uncle?" Seras knew that at nineteen, she was far too old to be whining. But she couldn't help it—not today. Her uncle, being part of the London blacksmithing guild, had to take annual trips to the great city in order to further his knowledge. Plying his trade was easier when he followed the latest fashions of the time, and what better place to learn but the seat of the Throne, where the smiths that supplied the royal family stayed?

"Now, Kitten…" her uncle trailed off, looking at her firmly. She bowed her head in submission, her cheeks flushing under the weight of his rare chastisement. Her aunt was always complaining that Seras was coddled too much by the man, but that only made his scolding much worse, since it came far less often. At the sight of her dejected expression, he laughed deeply and put his broad hand on her hair. "Come now, lass! Don't look so glum. I'll be back soon, and I'll bring you something nice from town. Some sweetmeats, perhaps."

"If you come back healthy and bring me interesting stories, I'll be far happier than if you came back with comfits," Seras said, smiling despite her sinking heart. Deep down, she knew that it was impossible for her to go to London. She was needed here at the cottage to help her aunt. And even if she _were_ somehow able to travel there, there was nowhere for her to stay. London was full of cutpurses and debauchery, and women weren't allowed into the smithing guild in any case.

But a part of her couldn't help but want to see the things her uncle talked about when he told her of his travels; lords and ladies in gaily-coloured clothing, bards who sang of romance and betrayal, the rows upon rows of shoppes that catered to every need—bakeries, tanners, grocers, alehouses…. Oh, to see it just _once_!

"We'll see," he replied good-naturedly, rubbing her golden locks before mounting his horse. He looked at the cottage and Seras turned to see her aunt appearing from the darkened threshold. The woman looked calculatingly at the rising sun and pursed her lips, heading for the gate.

"Are you still here?" she asked teasingly, shaking her head. "If you don't head on now, you'll be caught in the middle of nowhere when the sun sets. You'll need to make it to Mid-town tavern by tonight at the very least, if you want to make good time." She reached up and patted his thigh with her hand, looking at him as if committing his face to memory. Seras knew her aunt always worried when he made these trips; so many simply disappeared on long journeys, their families always wondering what had happened to them and never being able to get an answer.

"Aye, aye," her uncle laughed again, waving to them before he hiyahed and galloped down the path. Seras and her aunt waved to him as he crossed the Eastern horizon, their hands over their eyes to watch as long as they could without being blinded by the sun's bright rays. Her aunt sighed, tucking stray wisps of hair back underneath her kerchief before turning to her young niece.

"Come then, we must also begin. Without your uncle, we both have twice as much work to do as normally. Let's get started now before we fall behind." Seras bit back her sigh as she followed her aunt back through the gate and towards the stables to let out the family's two sheep and the old cow to graze on the common. _Twice as much work… how nice._

But even though she hated the idea, she had promised her uncle the night before that she'd be good help to her aunt. After all, they had taken her in and raised her from the time she was a babe, and had been like a mother and father to her. And even if she did try to skip Mass every now and again, she knew her commandments well enough. She was supposed to obey and honor her father and mother, or in this case her aunt and uncle.

And so once the animals were let out of the stables, she started on her uncle's usual task of cleaning out the filthy waste and putting fresh straw in the holding areas. Her aunt came and got the dung to spread on their garden, and bade Seras to feed the chickens and get the eggs while she fetched water and tended to the plot of land allotted to them for vegetables and herbs.

The morning passed quickly enough, and Seras found herself too busy to complain about the extra work. She even found herself doing beyond her normal measure without even thinking about it; she swept the cottage's packed earthen floor and spread fresh straw on it, and even raked the coals and ashes of the hearth without being told to.

The hard work didn't go unnoticed by her aunt, and when Seras finished brushing the older woman's felted-wool cloak and leaving it to air with the other outer-garments in the sun, she came over and gave an approving nod.

"Tis a good job, I must say. You've been working with the might of two girls your age all morning." Seras beamed at the acknowledgement of her work. Her aunt was a solemn and silent creature by nature, with gray eyes that reminded Seras of a cold winter's morning. She was not cruel, but she was severe and neat. She was never seen without a fresh overtunic and her hair was impeccable in its long plait.

By comparison Seras was the complete opposite. For some strange reason, her hair never grew past her shoulders, and therefore it was too short to be put in any sort of braid or bun. As was the custom with unmarried girls, she kept her head uncovered. The wind tousled her hair until it stood out in all directions, which vexed her aunt to no end. Her face was always stained with a bit of mud or grass and she was constantly shedding her overtunic and running around the village with the hems of her hose showing.

Being so unlike each other, her aunt always found fault in Seras and was constantly chiding her for every little thing. She dawdled at the well, she fought with the brewer's daughter and had yanked out her hair one time in a spirited brawl, she skipped church to run and roll in the blossoming fields of heather, she didn't do her chores properly, and so on. Any sort of true compliment on her part was rare indeed, and Seras wasn't blind to it.

"You've earned yourself a break, I think," her aunt said after a moment, nodding again. "I can handle the pig today—I want you to take this basket back to the church where it came from." She handed Seras a small woven basket which had once held rolls. Last week her aunt had borrowed it from the priest when her own basket had torn at the side and left a gaping hole.

"Yes, Aunt." Seras didn't want to say that she was less than excited about going to the church. It wasn't that she could care less about her eternal soul—no, she went to confession and prayed each day like a good Christian child. But the church was so stifling and hot, while outside the air was fresh and the hills seemed to call her name as she ran across them to the river, which was wide and bubbled with a secret song that she couldn't quite discern.

"And you needn't hurry back until the animals need to come from the common," her aunt finished with a rare smile. "Run along to the river if you'd like. Just be back at sundown and take the pail with you for some water." Seras felt her heart jump with joy. Her aunt was really giving her the _entire_ afternoon off? What a treat! She impulsively embraced the woman, who patted her head as if she were still a small child and then waved her off before heading back to where the herbs lay ready to be strung from the rafters.

She skipped through the village, which earned her a cluck of disapproval from the Widow Shale as she passed by the old woman's home. However, this day her heart was too light for her to mind much. She passed by the butcher's, where the man's two young sons were teasing a stray cat with a spare piece of sausage. The church lay at the end of the dirt path, where the village ended and the lane widened into a road that led traveler's onwards to Eagle-bend, and then Oxford beyond. She knocked on the church's great door, and waited patiently until she heard the priest calling from within.

Father Anderson was a large man, a head and some taller than her uncle, who towered over Seras as it was. He had broad shoulders and a thick trunk, and looked more suited for a warrior than a man of the cloth. His nose was squashed close against his face like a lump of clay, and while he wasn't the comeliest man in the village he certainly wasn't hard to look at. He had no beard, but scraggly hair abounded on his face and his hair was sheared, favoring her aunt's paler locks in colour. A long scar—the result of a horse accident—left a thick gash in one cheek and only added to his savage appearance.

But it was his eyes that captured Seras' attention. Once, a year or so ago, she had come to the church with her uncle on some small commission—she forgot what. At some point, the tide of the conversation had changed and the priest had brought out an illuminated manuscript from beneath the altar, where it lay for protection.

Seras was unable to read—only boys went to school, though she'd have leaped at the chance to even learn how to spell her name—but she knew the unintelligible squiggles were Latin. Her uncle, however, had been taught to read and write, and even to work a little business mathematics by his father, who had also been a blacksmith. And the priest had been educated at a clerical university, and was by far the most literate person in the area, save the clergyman at Eagle-bend.

In any case, while the two men had leaned over the book to discern the words, Seras had looked with avid interest at the pictures drawn upon the pages. She recognized a few biblical references from the stories, while others were pictures of people celebrating holy days. Her eyes were drawn to an image of a king with his servants—the man's crown and garments were covered in sparkling jewels.

Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and when her uncle and the priest were finished she'd asked about the jewels. She'd seen a ruby once before on a brooch belonging to a lady staying in the manor house at Eagle-bend, but the others were foreign to her.

"The blue one, 'tis a sapphire," her uncle explained. "It is like your eyes, little kitten." Seras scoffed at his usage of the pet name in front of the priest, but didn't dare rebuke her elder in front of a man of God. "And the green ones be emeralds." She had decided she liked those best, the green of grass and trees.

If her eyes reminded her uncle of sapphires, then the priest's bright eyes, shining with an inner light, reminded her of emeralds.

"Well, well, well. I never thought I'd see the day that the blacksmith's wee lass would come willingly into the temple of God, when the day outside was so bright." Seras smiled at his words, for though they were spoken in a rough way she could hear the undercurrent of teasing. Usually he was threatening her with both earthly and divine punishment for her slothful, eluding nature; having him be tongue-in-cheek with her was a most welcome divergence.

"What have ye done, that ye must come all the way to town for confession?" he asked, and she laughed and shook her head. She held out the basket, dropping into a polite curtsey when both her hands were free.

"I've not come for confession, Sir; I was bid by my aunt to return this to you. With her thanks," she added as an afterthought, not wanting to portray her aunt as ungrateful. The priest accepted the basket and moved to put it away in an adjoining room, which Seras took to be his personal quarters. She knew he slept in the church, but had never seen anything beyond the altar.

"She's most welcome," he said at length when he'd returned. "I'm glad it served her well, though she might have waited until Sunday to return it to me. I've no need of it, to be sure." Seras shrugged before thinking better of it and clasped her hands behind her back to keep the temptation of another informal gesture at bay.

"I'm headed myself to the miller's house, so it was on my way. 'Twas no trouble." She exchanged a few parting words with the priest before leaving and making her way towards the miller's, which stood on the banks of the river and was home to her dearest companion, Anna.

Anna was a year younger than Seras. She was plump from the good breads and rolls she helped her mother bake in their shop, and her hair was a brilliant shade of red that rivaled the trees in autumn. She and Seras had grown up as bosom friends, and even now they enjoyed being together by the river, laughing and talking.

Anna was given leave to spend a portion of the afternoon with Seras, and together they picked their way through the fields of wildflowers to the bank of the glistening waters. The miller's water wheel creaked behind them as Seras began to braid her friend's hair, weaving blue and white flowers into the plaits as Anna spoke about her love for the brewer's eldest son, Thomas.

"I wish that he would ask me to be his sweetheart," she sighed as Seras ran her fingers through the auburn locks, gently pulling apart the tangles. "We're old enough for beaus now, aren't we?"

"Sure enough, girls younger than us are married each day," Seras answered plainly as she picked some more flowers and tied their stems at the base of the braid. "But we aren't old spinsters yet, either. Can't you enjoy a few more years of freedom? After all, once you're married you're duty-bound to start having children and tying up your hair like an old woman."

"Yes, but I'd be able to run my own house," Anna replied dreamily. "And with as many patrons as Sir Brewer has, he's bound to have a servant or two. Perhaps we can get an alehouse at the town and serve passing gentry. Then I could learn the fashions from the ladies that stay at the inn while their fellows drink." She sighed again. "Tell me again of London and the women there."

"If you're patient a week or so, I'll have new stories to tell," Seras retorted, but obediently began relating the stories of fashion her uncle had told her. Anna soaked up the stories and they laughed over their imagined Court romances. Finally Seras ran out of tales and Anna lay back on the bank with a smile, taking care to keep her bedecked hair safely curled over her shoulder. Seras lay next to her and they watched the clouds.

"It looks nearly like rain," Anna said at last. "But surely, this time of year, there would be no sudden storms. After all, it's the midst of summer." But even as she said that, the sky seemed to prove her wrong as the darkening clouds rolled over the horizon and obscured the heavens. Seras sat up reluctantly, not wanting to end this unusual luxury. It wasn't every day she was able to see her friend and speak like this, or simply do nothing more than lay back and watch the sky.

"I must get back. I have to bring in the animals in my uncle's stead," she said, and embraced her friend, kissing her cheek warmly before waving goodbye and running up the bank. By the time she reached the village path and remembered to stop for the water her aunt had wanted, the first sprinkles were hitting the dusty earth and staining the pale brown dark. The people milling about the village looked up in surprise at the rain, an odd sight in the heat of the summer.

She ran back towards her home as fast as she dared, trying to keep from sloshing the water out of the bucket. Her aunt was already at the gate looking for her, and when she approached she grabbed the bucket and waved her onwards.

"Hurry, hurry!" she cried over the sound of the wind picking up. Seras didn't even stop to acknowledge that she heard, but raced to the common and barely managed to gather up the animals. She corralled them back into the stables and heard the rain coming over the hills in a dull roar of falling water. She foolishly stopped to look and was caught in the downpour, her aunt gesturing for her to come to the cottage.

"You'll catch your death, standing like a goose in the rain!" she scolded sharply, peeling Seras' wet garments off and spreading them near the fire to dry off. "A sudden storm… it's a bad omen," she added after a moment, looking out the open door to where the rain poured. The wind began to buffet the water in and she moved to shut the door, trapping them in the dim light. Seras sniffed and warmed her chilled limbs by the hearth, for once not bothering to argue that she was only looking to see if the rain was moving all at once like a wall over the hills.

"I hope Uncle wasn't caught out in the rain," she declared after she had dried and her aunt had run a comb through her helplessly tangled hair. The impromptu bath had washed the dirt from her face and now she felt cleaner than normal, though having wet hair wasn't comfortable in the slightest. "Perhaps he'd already reached Mid-town tavern."

She knew it was silly to think that, but her aunt didn't dispute her words. Instead the woman just looked up towards the thatched roof, where they could both hear the rain pounding away, and set her lips into a line so thin that Seras wondered if her mouth might just disappear entirely.

* * *

The rain lasted for two days and two nights. Unable to do their normal chores, Seras and her aunt instead turned their attention to indoor tasks. It was nearly unbearable for the girl who was used to running under the open sky.

She sat by the hearth, mending the family's clothing and wondering how the aristocratic ladies in the manor house at Eagle-bend could stand it. They never went out of doors, always keeping their pale faces inside and bending over their needlepoint. She bent over her own crude sewing and sighed, trying to pluck apart an errant stitch without her aunt seeing her.

Her aunt was busy too, spinning wool and flax into thread or replenishing the family's supply of poultices and medicines with the drying herbs she'd collected. But unlike Seras, she didn't complain about being stuck in the cottage, living by the dark light of one tallow candle and the burning flames of the hearth. She set a good example for her impatient niece, bending over boiling pots of herbs silently, her mind focused on her task at hand.

"Praise be!" Seras couldn't help but exclaim on the third day when she awoke and saw the cottage door open and the early morning sunlight spilling across the threshold. She didn't know if she could take another full day indoors. Her aunt had made the wet trips to care for the animals, knowing that if Seras went out there she'd be distracted and would come back soaked to the bone rather than only mildly wet.

She volunteered to do the laundry, willing to trade red hands and aching shoulders for the chance to bask in the sun while beating the linens against the river stones. Her aunt hesitated a moment, but finally consented.

"Don't dally by the waters, girl," she warned as she handed over the baskets of soiled cloth and went to tend to the animals herself. "I want you back straightaway, for today I'll be working a good part on cheese." Like most of the other village women, her aunt used the milk from their one cow to make cheese and butter for the family. Such a time-consuming task meant that while her aunt was busy, Seras would be churning butter and finishing a few of the other chores alone.

"Alright," she agreed, for even the daunting tasks would be worth the delicious cheese come harvest season. She hoisted the laundry over her head and quickly made her way to the river, but even though she promised to hurry she did falter for a moment to breathe in the air. The fields still glistened with raindrops and dew, and the scent of the soil after rain permeated the atmosphere all around her. She forgave herself this tiny pleasure as she began to scrub the soil from the family's clothing and bedding.

Though the river's soft sounds were peaceful and the birds chirping in the bushes made her want to sing along, the sun continued to rise and soon the air shimmered with heat. She began to think about the tree by the house, and the shade it provided. She finally got the last stubborn stain out of her own faded tunic and carted the baskets back to the house. She was longer in returning, not by her lingering, but because the weight of the waterlogged clothing made the two baskets so heavy she could barely handle them both.

Even taking as long as she did, she must have returned in a sensible amount of time for her aunt saw her preparing to string the clothes on a line spread between the tree and the cottage and didn't reproach her in any way. Now that Seras was back, her aunt rounded the corner of the house and made her way to the cool, dry storage where the cheese wheels lay packed in salt for preservation.

Seras took this silence as a compliment to her obedience, and began to drape the clothing across the lines where the sunlight would be sure to fall on them. It didn't take long to complete the task, and she took a moment to herself in order to lean against the tree. She pressed her cheek against the cool bark and looked at the horizon.

Over the hills, the clouds were no longer dark harbingers of rain, but light and fluffy balls that resembled cotton. She watched with interest as the grass and clouds alike were blown in the same breeze, and then a rider appeared over the hill and galloped towards the village. She regarded him with a detached sort of curiosity; lone riders were uncommon, but not unheard of. It was most likely a man with a message for Father Anderson from Eagle-bend's clergyman.

It was only when the horse met with the main path and turned not towards the church, but towards her home that she realized who the rider was. Struck with momentary shock and confusion, she watched as the man rode straight for them as if the Devil himself were on his heels. Then, she dropped the empty straw basket and ran blindly towards the gate, bursting through it to meet the horse as it approached. She could have been trampled, but the horse knew its home and slowed before they collided in the path.

"Uncle!" she cried, looking him over quickly. She was bewildered; he should have been away from home for three Sundays at least, for London was a long journey. Something must have happened to impede his progress towards the city.

Wracking her brain, she wondered if the rain had flooded the river so that it was hopeless to cross. Their side of the river had receded, but she knew from his stories that past the bend it easily overran its banks and flooded the low-lying countryside. But if that was it, why did he look so out of sorts? And why was he riding home so quickly?

"Uncle," she repeated, "what is the matter? Why are you home so soon?" It seemed at first he didn't register that she had said anything at all to him. He looked down at her, and his face was paling quickly. His beard stood out in stark contrast to his nearly bloodless cheeks, and his expression was not one she could place immediately.

Suddenly, horror dawned on his face and he slipped from his mount to clutch her in a tight embrace. She smelled sweat and smoke on his clothing, as well as something she had only smelled near the manor house—perfumed soap. She leaned back and wrinkled her nose, her hands pressed against his torso as she looked up at him.

"Where have you been? Your clothing has been washed like 'twas a lord's tunic." Her uncle only pressed his chin to the top of her head and sagged against her. She nearly toppled back with the weight of him and panicked, thinking that perhaps he'd been injured in some way. "Uncle?! What is it?"

"Oh Seras…. Seras…." he whispered, and the sound was pleading and desperate. It made it seem as though she were on her deathbed, and trepidation settled into her stomach like a bad meal, making her innards churn. And he so rarely used her Christian name; the unfamiliar sound of it on his lips only furthered her worry.

"Uncle, come in," she urged him, half-carrying, half-leading him into the cottage. She sat him on his preferred stool near the hearth, propping him up against the wall and blinking rapidly to adjust her eyes. He didn't seem to be mortally wounded in any place, but he was breathing hard and looked on the verge of tears. Her stomach twisted into a tighter knot at the sight. "I will go and fetch my aunt," she said quickly, at a loss for what to do. Her aunt was always the one who stayed calm in emergencies.

"Aye," her uncle nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fetch Agnes, and then run as fast as you can to the church and bid Father Anderson to come at once." His voice was nearly as frenzied as hers, but he spoke barley above a whisper. She didn't waste any more time, hurrying towards the room where her aunt was bent over the cheese press.

"Aunt!" she all but screamed, and the woman jumped and put a hand over her heart, wheeling around to chew her niece out for frightening her so. But at the look on Seras' face, any scolding words died on her lips and instead she rushed forward to grasp the girl's shoulders.

"My uncle has returned," she explained, swallowing hard. It felt as though her heart were in her throat. "He is ill or injured or—I know not what," she sputtered, shaking her head. "You must tend to him, for he's bid me to run for the priest as quickly as my feet will take me." Her aunt didn't speak, but instead moved past her and made a straight beeline for the cottage door. Seras overtook her and burst through the gate, skirts held tight in her hands as she sprinted towards the church on the other side of the village.

She ran faster than she ever had before, heart thundering in her chest and lungs refusing to gather air as she sped down the lane. She dodged under and around people as she passed, hearing their questions flying after her but not daring to stop and explain herself. She tripped on the church stairs and nearly fell, but managed to catch her footing and do an awkward dance to keep herself aloft.

She didn't bother knocking, but instead simply open the door and ran inside, the father's name on her lips. He was cleaning the altar and looked up when he saw her approaching, his eyebrows arching at her swift entrance.

"Back again?" he laughed, but the smile faded from his face when he saw her countenance. "What is it, child? What's happened?" She shook her head, willing her lungs to draw breath.

"Uncle—returned," she managed to say after a moment. "Something—wrong, said—get—you." She took a deeper breath and nearly choked on the incensed air. "Please—come quickly." The man's face darkened and he nodded gravely.

"Run ahead if you can muster it, child. Tell him that I am following right behind you. I need only to gather my cloak." Seras turned and obeyed, taking a leap and clearing the stairs before running back towards home.

Her legs burned and her lungs screamed for air, her heart working in overdrive; however, she didn't dare stop. At this very moment, her uncle may be in dire need of her, and she wouldn't be able to rest until she was at his side again. Ignoring the pain in her limbs, she urged herself onwards and passed back the way she had come. Only when she passed through the door of the cottage did she stop, hands on her knees as she tried to breathe.

"Is the priest coming?" her aunt said, moving forward. Seras' vision swam, but she saw her uncle looked a little better, though he was still pale and despondent. She managed to nod, chest heaving, and her aunt took her arm and made her sit. "There's a girl… you did well," she said softly, pressing a cup of ale into Seras' hand. Seras' legs began to shake and she leaned against the daubed wall, her heart pounding so loudly it was a wonder no one else heard it.

They sat in silence until a knock on the door signaled the priest's arrival. Her aunt let him in and he crossed the cottage in three great strides, putting his hand on the blacksmith's shoulder. The man looked up at him and breathed a sigh of relief.

"What's happened, Tobias?" Father Anderson asked quietly, though his words sounded loud in the near-silence of the room. The man shook his head and motioned for his wife to get a seat for the father. After ale was brought and the priest seen to, he swallowed, steeled himself, and spoke.

"Four days ago I set out for London, to visit the guild," he explained slowly to the priest, who nodded and made a gesture for him to continue. "You know that a storm came unexpectedly that very afternoon. I was caught in the storm, and meant to find a tavern to stay at until it passed over."

"However, by the time I reached the main river, the banks had swelled beyond any means of crossing. I knew that downstream there was a felled pile of stone and I decided that I would try to lead my horse across the pile, seeing as it was a sort of dam that separated the lowlands from the town path. I knew that if I didn't get across the river, I'd risk sleeping outside in the rain, or at the very least unprotected in the open air."

"Tobias, crossing on those rocks would have been too dangerous!" his wife exclaimed, eyes wide. "The water could have washed them away at any moment; I don't imagine that they're well-seated."

"They were far less dangerous than taking my chances with a wandering gang of thieves. The sun was close to setting, and Riverside tavern is only a mile or so past the river's natural edge." The priest nodded, and her uncle continued his tale. "In any case, the waters must have risen above the stones, for I reached the wood before I could find my crossing, when normally the stones would have been easily visible even in the waning light."

"I didn't have much time to think, but I decided to head back towards the lane and try my luck at a shallower spot I had spotted when looking for the stones. It was deeper than it first appeared, for while I was fine in the shallows, a sudden dip made me lose my hands on the reigns. The horse panicked and in my effort to grab her, we both lost our footing and were swept away by the water."

At this revelation, her aunt let out a strangled sound and covered her face for a long moment. Seras felt her heart lurch in her chest and shivered involuntarily. Her uncle was lucky to be alive, for even without the storm churning the water a foolhardy traveler could easily be drowned in the swift current. The fact that her uncle and the horse had escaped was truly a miracle. The priest said a prayer under his breath as her aunt got herself under control.

"How did you manage to stay afloat?" Father Anderson asked when everything was quiet once more.

"By some act of God I managed to grab the reins once more in a way that they were tangled around my fist, and I kept my head above the water and grabbed out for anything I could. A strong sapling managed to hold to the bank and I called for the horse, which swam over to me with only a little trouble."

"Somehow—I know not how I managed, but I did—we made it up the bank and rested a moment, clearing the water from our lungs." He took a deep breath, as if remembering the feeling of water rushing into his lungs, and the panicky breathlessness of drowning. "When I looked around, we were deep in the wood, and there were no familiar landmarks."

"I knew that if night were to fall on us—a lone traveler, weak and chilled, lost in the woods—we'd be prime targets for the cutthroats that wandered those trees." Seras leaned forward despite herself, straining to hear every sound that escaped her uncle's mouth. She knew that she shouldn't be so intrigued by the man's story of near-death, but she couldn't help herself. It was the sort of story that she enjoyed: suspenseful, action-packed, and full of danger.

"I thought to follow the river back, but that soon proved to be nearly impossible. Too many trees had been strewn by the wind, and there were times I couldn't see the waters for the rain and leaves. I meant to take a long route around a copse of trees too closely knit to pass through, but I must have taken a wrong turn and ended up deeper in the woods than I had originally been. There came a point where I couldn't see or hear the river at all."

"I wandered blindly, trying to find either a cave to take shelter in, or a way back to the river. Now I could barely see far in front of me, for the light had nearly gone. Then, to my good fortune—" he paused, frowning. "At least, I _thought_ to my good fortune, I stumbled across a clearing, and in the clearing was a well-situated manor house, built of stone with the forest serving as a natural fence of sorts."

"Ah!" I thought to myself. "Here is a place to stay, even it's only in the stables. I must not be farther from a town than I thought, if a lord's home is out here." So I prayed thanks to God and started towards the door, hoping to gain shelter from the storm for the night."

"And you did?" her aunt asked with bated breath. Her uncle gulped and shuddered, closing his eyes.

"If I had known what lay behind those walls, I'd have taken my chances with the thieves." Seras gaped in bafflement. What could be so bad that he'd have rather fought ruthless outlaws?

"What was it, Tobias?" the priest murmured. "Tell us."

"I knocked on the door, but no one answered. Firelight blazed from the windows, so I assumed that someone was still awake. I entered, despite my better judgment, and called out to anyone within. No one answered my call, either, so I followed the light to a warmed great hall, well-furnished and with a large fire burning. Instead of a hearth, there was a large grate with a mantle like in the greater houses of London," he added afterwards, with a sense of peasant admiration.

"I took the liberty of warming myself, and seeing as my fall into the river had ruined what food I had on my person, I began to feel hungry. I had missed dinner, and when I was warmer I ventured back to the entrance to see if I could hail a servant or a porter. I found no one, but in a separate room I did see breads and ale laid for the servants. I was hungry enough that I took some bread, but after one bite… he appeared."

"Who?" the priest asked concernedly. Her uncle's face paled again and his eyes glistened with fear in the light of the flames.

"A demon." The words met with a long moment of disbelief. Seras felt her jaw hang open, and Father Anderson and her aunt both crossed themselves. She followed suit sheepishly afterwards, still puzzled by her uncle's confession. He'd met a demon and lived to tell the tale?

"Are you certain?" Father Anderson asked seriously. "Was it in the form of a beast, or something not of this world? Did it speak magick at you?" Her uncle shook his head.

"It took the form of a man, taller than me. Perhaps your height, with a tangled mane. Indeed, when I first saw him I took him only to be the lord of the manor. He wore a strange coat of armor, unlike the knights of Eagle-bend's suits." Seras didn't dare breathe, in case she missed something. In her mind's eye, she envisioned a tall, vaguely human form with horns barely hidden by its hair and goat's feet stuffed into iron-shod boots.

"But when I looked again, I knew he was not of this world—an evil spirit, a worker of malice. His eyes were the color of those flames!" he proclaimed, pointing at the hearth. "Deep, dark red, and cold as ice. When he looked upon me, I felt the Evil Eye and could not move for fear."

"He stepped towards me and bared his teeth; they were long and pointed like a beast's, and I felt dread in my stomach, and nearly threw up the bread I had eaten. The shadows around the room seemed to cling to him and move with him, curling around his boots and I couldn't discern where his hair ended and they began. He loomed over me and I could do little more than stare at him and pray for deliverance from this creature." The priest nodded, and her aunt had her hands over her mouth as if afraid to speak.

Seras added two glowing embers for eyes to her mental creature, and shivered at the wicked image. It was terrifying in an exciting way; she had felt the same way when she had once gotten too close to a large bear that had come with a traveling faire, and it had growled at her threateningly.

"He spoke to me then, and his words cut to my marrow. He was furious, but not once did he raise his voice. "Forward, pathetic little human!" he called me, and I trembled in my boots. "Who gave you leave to enter my home? Who told you to partake of my food? Who told you to intrude upon my privacy?"

"I was beside myself with terror, but I fell to my knees and cried out "Forgive me, my lord! I only wished to find shelter from the storm, and a place to sleep for the night. I called out but no one answered, and I had only thought that in a house as great at this, no one would begrudge me warming myself by the fire, and no one would miss a mouthful of bread and a sip of ale. I beg your pardon!"

"He dragged me back to my feet, and when his eyes locked with mine I felt myself rooted to the very spot. I knew some sort of magick was at work, and prayed fervently that if I were to die, that my soul would not suffer at the hands of him or his masters in Hell. He stared at me a long moment, and as he did so he seemed to calm somewhat. Then he released me and said this:

"I will give you shelter from the storm, and a safe haven to rest. In return, when the rain is gone you will return to your home. In a week's time, I will follow you. You will forfeit your life to me, unless you agree to give to me the first thing that passes through the gate at your arrival—be it leaf blown by the wind, rotten timber fallen from the threshold, or a chicken wandering outside of its hutch—it will belong to me. If you refuse to obey me, I will strike you down where you stand."

"I didn't know what to do, so I agreed to his demands. He personally took me upstairs to the solar, and I had my own private room. My clothing was cleaned and dried, I was given a large repast, and a servant assured me that my mount was being cleaned and fed in the stables. For two days and two nights, I was confined to that room. My meals were brought to me, and I wanted for nothing. Then, on the third day, the servant attending to me led me to the entrance, where I found my horse saddled and waiting. I returned home as quickly as I could but…." He looked away, his breath catching in his throat.

"I meant to throw something—anything—through the gate. Something expendable, where I could gladly hand it over and have that demon leave me in peace. But when I foolishly made the pledge to the creature of darkness, I forgot about Jephthah and his torments. The first thing that rushed through the gate upon my arrival was my niece, whom I love like my own daughter!" He buried his face in his hands, unable to say more.

The room span and Seras was unable to breathe for a moment, her heart stopping and skipping a beat as her uncle's words sank in. Suddenly the image in her head wasn't exciting anymore, but instead purely horrific and alarming. She _had_ been the one to run through the gate, out into the street. He had seen it, and knew what her rash action had done—it had sealed their fates, one way or the other. When the demon came, it would either take his life or hers.

"No." The denial was from her aunt, who was shaking her head slowly. "No, this cannot happen. Something must be done," she said, looking towards the priest. "What can be done? Surely, _surely_ , as good Christians we can fight against this darkness!" Father Anderson's eyes were grave, and he scratched his chin pensively as he thought.

"Something will be done," her uncle answered hollowly. "I will die in a week's time." Now it was Seras' turn to shake her head. Her uncle, dead? No! That couldn't be allowed to happen—it _wouldn't_ be allowed to happen! She too looked towards the priest, the symbol of Christendom and all that was good in their village, hoping that he would be able to miraculously make this better.

"I can do nothing but bless you," Father Anderson said at length. "When the demon comes, then perhaps I can banish it back to the depths of Hell. But for now, we can only wait and hope that it is weak enough for my earthly form to handle it's magick."

That night, the relief of the blacksmith's return was dampened by the cold scythe of Death hanging low over the cottage, beckoning to them all.

* * *

 **Afterword:** Reviews appreciated, as always!

Chapter 2 will be out on June 6th!


	2. A Bold Plea Deal

The week flew by faster than any other that Seras could remember. The entire family went about their usual business—cheese making, blacksmithing, chores and meals punctuating the hours—but it was a mechanical process with no thought put into it. Their minds were all focused on the day creeping steadily closer, when their fates would be decided.

Not once did they even allude to the possibility of Seras being given to the demon in exchange for the blacksmith's life. Instead, her aunt seemed to mourn like she was already a widow while her uncle spent every possible hour in his shop, trying to finish his backed-up orders before he lay down his life.

Seras wanted to speak to them about it, but the subject seemed unapproachable. In her heart, she was terribly conflicted. She knew that her aunt and uncle would never willingly give her up to a creature that could work terrible magick on her or eat her body while keeping her soul captive by some dark means. Her nights were filled with terrible dreams of dark claws and glowing eyes, leaving her awake and trembling beneath her coverlet. Yet how much worse were the nightmares of a legion of creatures dragging her gentle, kind uncle to the pits of Hell while a dark shadow laughed cruelly at the women's distress!

But for all her fear and anxiety on her uncle's part, she hadn't cried. She was the sort of girl who had decided as a child that crying didn't do a whit of good, unless it was already too late. And so in lieu of grieving for what was to come (she left that to her aunt), she spent her time planning.

It was the first time she kept a sin to herself instead of going to confess it in the church, but she figured that if she was going to go through with her plan, she was condemned in any case and so it didn't really matter. Her sin was one of omission—she had hidden her growing idea from her elders, and in doing so had all but verbally lied to them. In their eyes, she was innocent of any deceit or scheming, but it was not the case.

No matter what anyone said, her uncle was an indispensable tool for the community. He was the only blacksmith in that part of the country, and three or four villages besides Eagle-bend used his services for all their smithing needs. If he were gone, without a successor apprenticed to his name, the town would be in dire need of another smith.

Not to mention that without his income, she and her aunt would be left penniless. Of course they had food to live on, but there were other expenses that needed to be cared for. He was a man, and in a man's world that was what she and her aunt needed. He was far less expendable than a small orphan child that had been raised by her father's brother.

And so she plotted and planned in secret, lying awake in her bed at night and slowly working by day, her mind leagues away. She half-wished her aunt would shout and scold her like usual, to bring some semblance of normalcy to her life.

There were times when her mind would take a darker turn and she wondered what demon claws would feel like clutching her skin, or how their teeth would feel biting into her soft stomach, ripping her innards and lapping up her blood. Would they keep her alive to feel it, or would she be blissfully dead by that point? At those times, she would shake herself out of her thoughts and swallow the knot in her throat. It was the not-knowing that frightened her; if she could only know what she was getting into, then she might be able to summon more bravery.

* * *

And then, all at once, the dreaded morning dawned on their little household. It was laundry day again, and Seras' heart wrenched in her chest as she looked at the unassuming baskets of bedclothes and linens. She wordlessly watched her aunt carry them towards the river, and heard the ringing of metalwork in her uncle's forge. Something about it all became too much and she turned, scattering chickens as she hopped over the gate and ran.

She went past the church, past the miller's, past her usual laundry-spot, over the hills and through the glens, never stopping even as her legs began to throb painfully. Finally she reached the boundary of the river, where it crooked once before attempting the wide bend that gave Eagle-bend its signature name.

She collapsed on the damp grass, her bare feet soaking in the soil while her hands clutched at the grass. The tears she'd been holding in all week spilled out, mingling with the muddy banks of the river and disturbing the tadpoles burrowing in the shallow pools of water at the bank's edge. She cried herself out after only a moment's weeping, wiping her eyes on her overtunic and then watching the scenery morosely.

The sky was brilliant today, with only bare wisps of white decorating the otherwise blemish-free blue. She sighed, sniffling and listening to the babbling waters. Father Anderson always spoke of God as a being who lived in Heaven but also in the church. She couldn't believe it that He would spend all His time in a stuffy building that reeked of incense and sweaty bodies. No, in her mind God would be out here, under the blue sky. She could hear His voice in the whisper of the wind in the grass, in the murmurs of the river, and she could feel him in the ground beneath her hands and feet.

 _Courage_ , she thought, wondering if it would do her any good to pray out here instead of at the church. _I need courage. Please, please give me strength to do what I know is right._ She strained to hear an answer, a confirmation that she had been heard. The wind whistled across the glen, the water rippled and sang, and she felt a little better. Then the grass behind her rustled and she turned to see who or what had disturbed her.

It was a great black dog, a massive beast that was as tall as she was, even seated on the ground. Its eyes glowed with a strange light, and it panted at her, showing white fangs. She was startled for a moment, but noticed the leather strap around its neck and relaxed. Most likely it was a hunting dog, on the search for its master's dinner. It came closer and she held out her hand for it to sniff, laughing weakly when it licked her fingers and wagged its tail.

"Go on, you mongrel," she said teasingly, boldly reaching to rub its pollen-dusted head. She scratched it behind the ears before pressing down gently on it, using it as a crutch to stand up. "I'm not a rabbit, and I doubt your master would enjoy devouring _me_ for his supper." It panted and leaned against her leg for a moment before walking to the river's edge for a drink.

Seras looked around for a hunter or anyone who could have been its owner, but saw no one. She wondered if perhaps it had wandered from the town all the way out here, but of course it could give her no answer. She looked at it and it licked its chops, woofed once, and then bounded back through the grasses towards the woods in the distance. She watched it curiously before turning herself to head back to the cottage.

"Where've you been!?" her aunt shouted when she walked through their gate. The woman had been hanging out the laundry when she spotted her niece and her face had combined relief with fury. "I've been worried near to death! I couldn't find you." She marched over, clearly intending on giving her a stern scolding (and perhaps a swatting).

"I went to pray," Seras said truthfully. Her aunt's face softened and then she did something she hadn't attempted since Seras was a young child, dragging her into an embrace and kissing her forehead. Seras gave into her childish impulse and buried her face in her aunt's bosom, breathing in the familiar smell of herbs and sunlight and woman.

"My dear child," her aunt said with a sigh, lips still pressed against her head. "You've always been a brave, enduring girl. I'm afraid you've had to be brave for both of us. But don't worry, for I daresay it'll all work out in the end." Seras only hugged her aunt tighter, wishing she could wring every last drop of love out of her. She wished with all her might that she didn't have to break the woman's heart.

Her uncle stepped out into the sunlight from his forge, and saw them together. He strode towards them and wrapped them in his arms, soot and all. No one complained and they stayed together, gaining strength from each other. The odor of fire and soot combined with her aunt's scent filled Seras with immense love, which hardened into dutiful valor. She smiled and pushed closer into their combined bodies, soaking it up like a cloth in water until she was certain her entire body thrummed with it.

"He'll come at sunset," her uncle said quietly, and her aunt stiffened beneath Seras' touch. "I know it. Let's go inside and eat." He put an arm around their shoulders and walked them both back to the cottage. Today Seras noticed that while her aunt's glistened and sparkled with nervous tears, her uncle's eyes were the solemn ones. It seemed that he had resigned himself to his fate, and it only made Seras' heart beat faster against her ribs.

Her aunt crafted a meal of splendorous proportions, usually saved for Christmas or Midsummer. There was the rare presence of meat, fresh baked bread with butter, cheese, vegetables, and bottomless ale. It was a last supper to beat all others, but no one had much of an appetite. They ate in silence, staring at the hearth while filling their stomachs as best they could.

Then, as the light began to wane and cast shadows across the yard, her uncle rose and looked towards the open door. Father Anderson turned into their gate and they met with equal looks of somberness. He turned towards his wife and niece.

"You'd do best to stay indoors," he proclaimed. "I'll wait for him out there." Her aunt shook her head, defying her husband for the first time that Seras could remember.

"No, I will watch with you." She was resolved, and Seras felt herself rising to her feet.

"I will as well. We want to be by your side," she said. The meat curled in her stomach and she fought the bile rising. She didn't want to think about what was going to happen. Her uncle looked at them exasperatedly, but nodded his consent and the four of them went out to stand by the gate. As they watched the sun set lower in the sky, though the day was still plenty bright to see, they saw a figure come riding across the horizon and turn onto the path.

"Tis him," her uncle said, and Seras noted the slight tremor in his voice. "I'd know him anywhere." The priest ushered them behind the gate and used the splinters to hold pieces of paper. Seras looked at them inquisitively, marveling at the Latin written on it. She and her aunt looked up questioningly at Father Anderson.

"Tis a holy barrier, written from the words of God and the Bible. It is as good protection as I can muster for this house and its inhabitants," he explained. Her aunt nodded, accepting this answer, but Seras wondered if a demon could indeed be thwarted by mere pieces of parchment. The sound of hooves caught her ear and she turned without thinking, watching the rider as he approached the cottage and slowed. Her eyes took in the horse, pitch black as midnight and hulking. Then they went up, up, up, until she was looking right in the rider's face.

Her first thought was that she should be mortally afraid of looking into a demon's eyes, considering that it could work vile magick on her without touching her if it could see into her soul. Her second thought was that he didn't look much like a demon at all, other than being naturally intimidating. _Truly, these creatures of the Devil are a deceiving bunch_ , she thought to herself, gasping involuntarily as his eyes raked over her and passed on dismissively.

He was clearly a tall man, even mounted on his horse, and he wore a shining suit of armor that was unlike any she had ever seen before. She'd watched the knights of Eagle-bend once or twice, dressed up in their chainmail and conical hats, but this man had no mail that she could see. Instead his armor was made of strange iron plates welded together intricately. Even his gloves were not the mitten-like mail of the knights, but instead greaves that were so detailed that each finger could clearly bend on its own.

His hair was a tangled mess, yet it was made not of shadow, but of thick black locks that curled and twisted and hung everywhere. Seras wondered briefly if his hair was ever caught in-between the plates of armor, since it tumbled across his shoulders and partway down his back. Looking closely, she highly doubted that horns could be hidden under the hair—any other color besides black would be noticeable.

His beard and mustache were well-groomed and made his lips and pale skin stand out with its dark color. His eyes _were_ like embers, set deeply in his face and burning brightly with a red sheen. His profile was prominent, and while the features weren't softened he was still very handsome.

Seras thought that the shadows of dusk hung around his body like in her uncle's story, but on closer inspection she saw it was a great cloak that draped across his forearms and down his back. Furthermore, it was not colorless at all but instead a dark purple-black, and the underside appeared to be red. This confused her, and such a color was only worn by royalty as far as she knew. She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips pursed in thought. Was he some sort of demon _king_?

"I have come to complete our bargain," he said at last, after looking over each one of them. He spoke English, but the words were twisted beneath a thick accent. Seras was reminded of the Gypsies that came through sometimes, offering fortunes and potions in exchange for coins. Or, if not them, then the lord from Germania that allowed her uncle to fix his broken sword when he passed through the town once. His voice carried the same otherworldly quality, the same foreign, exotic nature.

"I'm glad to see you were enough of a man to stand here before me, blacksmith. Others before you have tried to run away, and it never ended well for them. Of course," he said with a hint of amusement, "it will not end so well for you, either. But know that you now have earned my respect, and take peace that you die with your honor intact."

"I am a man of my word, sir. I would not have tried to run away, when I pledged that I would be here waiting for you." Her uncle sounded completely sure of himself now, and the fear in his voice was gone. He bravely stepped beyond the holy barrier and stood before the demon's horse. "I am ready."

The demon man tilted his head and looked at him oddly a moment, but then threw back his cloak from his right arm. Seras saw a sword belted to his waist over the armor and the knot in her throat returned. She couldn't cry out, and felt her aunt tremble at her side, but her uncle did not show any terror at the sight of the weapon. It was only when he made to grab the sword that she felt herself moving, shouting in a voice that was not entirely her own.

"Stop!" Her aunt gave a squeaky sob of shock and fright and Father Anderson tried to grab her as she ducked beneath him, running through the gate and scattering paper barriers in her wake. She ran without thinking, sprinting ahead of her uncle to the man's side. When she was herself again, she realized to her horror that one hand was on the horse's neck, the other on the demon's leg.

She felt the cold metal beneath her fingers and heard a grumble. Looking up, she locked eyes with the man again and nearly lost her nerve. But he didn't draw his sword on her, nor move her hand from his leg, and she took both as a good sign. She heard the priest calling to her, and her aunt was openly crying from fear, but she ignored them. She focused only on the demon.

"Please, I bid you spare my uncle's life," she said boldly. The demon looked at the blacksmith before replying.

"He has pledged to me his life. Has he not told you of his greed?" Seras felt a twinge of anger at the words.

"He only asked for a place to sleep and some food for the night, when he was away from home and half-drowned!" she protested loudly, and the demon's eyes widened at her insubordinance. Her uncle looked distraught and flabbergasted that she had the gall to rebuke a monster who could kill her as easily as swatting a fly.

"I know what his crimes are," she continued, a little surprised at her own audacity. She knew she had nerve, but never before had she called out a stranger. "And I tell you this: my uncle is indispensable as a blacksmith, and if you take him away then the entire countryside will suffer for it."

"What do I care for you pathetic villagers and your need for an iron-worker?" he replied callously. "He and I have a deal, and it will be seen through."

"I know," she repeated. "That's why I am here, my lord," she said, determining that it wasn't too late for politeness. "You gave my uncle a choice—his life, or the first thing through his gate upon his arrival." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. " _I_ was the first through the gate, for I saw him and went to greet him, worried that he had returned so soon." The silence stretched as the demon studied her, mouth set in a thin line. Then he leaned over, looking closely at her with a scrutinizing air. Seras met his gaze impudently, wondering if he thought she was too scrawny to eat.

"Are you giving your life for your uncle's?" he asked, almost as if he didn't believe her. "Of your own free will?" She looked back to the cottage, where her aunt and uncle wore identical expressions of horror.

"Do you promise to leave my family alone?" she retorted. The knight straightened and bowed his head in agreement.

"No harm will come to them by my hand," he vowed. Seras nodded.

"Then yes, I will choose to go with you in my uncle's stead." Her aunt cried out and Seras winced, for the sound went straight to her heart. The priest stepped to the edge of the barrier, his face a furious mask.

"Filthy, vile demon of Hell!" he roared, but the knight regarded him with little more concern than he might a mewling kitten swiping at him. "Taking an innocent virgin's life for your own evil purposes, when ye might have simply left them alone!"

"The man and I had a deal, _father_." The knight's scorn was nearly tangible. "And you, with all your laughable holy objects, can do nothing to change that." He looked back down at Seras. "Give me your hand then, fearless little one."

"No," the blacksmith said, stepping forward. "Seras, I have lived my life, and a few more or less years would have not changed me any. You are young, lass! Don't throw away your life for an old man."

"The village needs you, Uncle," Seras replied, hearing tears in her voice though none pricked her eyes. "They don't need me."

"How can your aunt and I live, knowing that you died for my mistake?" he cried in reply, eyes frenzied. She smiled, wanting his last impression of her to be just like the demon said—a fearless woman who didn't regret her decision to die for her family.

"You'll both live long lives in my memory," she proclaimed, and then without further ado she confidentially reached onto her tiptoes and grabbed the demon's offered hand. He swept her upon the horse before she could do little more than gasp, and suddenly she was sitting high above them all. Her aunt was on her knees, her uncle frozen in the middle of the path, and the priest was coming towards them, drawing a blade from beneath his robes. The man behind her laughed, and it sounded just like in her nightmares as the horse reared and turned, jumping over the priest to gallop back down the lane and through the fields, crossing hill after hill.

Seras held onto the horse's mane, the wind whipping at her face and eyes watering as they sped across the countryside towards the forest. She looked back one last time at the village, the sky over it dyed red by the setting sun. Then they crested a large hill and it was gone, replaced only by rolling scenery as the river shimmered ahead, growing ever closer.

They slowed when they reached the forest at the river's edge, the horse walking into the trees without being guided. Seras had heard of the forest, though she had never personally been in it. There had been no reason to stray from the main path, and the forest was home to crooks and outlaws. The horse headed through the trees, and Seras looked with interest all around her at the waning sun shining feebly through the trees, at the leaves trembling in the wind that didn't quite reach them on the forest floor, and listened to the sounds of animals in the underbrush.

She saw a deer and squirrels, but no outlaws. The demon had one gauntleted hand around her waist like a vice, the other loosely holding the reins. His sword bounced against her hip as they rode, and his chin brushed the top of her head occasionally. She dared to look up at him, but he didn't look back at her, nor did he speak. She contented herself to ride in silence and was about to yawn when they entered the clearing and she saw the manor house.

It was indeed just as her uncle had described, built of stone and wood with a properly tiled roof instead of one made entirely of thatch. The grounds were enormous, stretching as far as she could see in either direction, and only when the horse began to climb the hill towards the mansion did she comprehend how the forest spread around them like a barrier against the outside world.

She saw shadows moving quickly from the house towards them in the dust and braced herself, but when they approached the large black blob broke apart into a mass of great hounds. The one at their forefront was strikingly familiar, and the leather strap beneath his neck-fur solidified her assumption. This was the same dog from the riverside!

 _I suppose I spoke a falsehood to you_ , she thought wryly, watching the dogs swarm around the horse in greeting. _Your master_ _ **is**_ _one that would enjoy devouring me. A rabbit wouldn't do him justice, I'm afraid._

She noticed that though it was almost nighttime, the shutters weren't drawn over the glass windowpanes. She'd seen glass windows in the church, but never on a house—not even on the lord of Eagle-bend's manor. This man was certainly a very rich one… however, she wondered briefly whether his riches had come by lawful, or even _worldly_ means. Suddenly, the manor house was more formidable than it was an object of curiosity, and she had to steel herself to prevent a shudder wracking her small frame.

The entire trip she hadn't felt frightened, per say—more a sense of abject wonder at the new sights combined with a growing sense of resignation. But now, as the horse slowed near the large doors and she heard muffled footfalls beyond the panes of wood and iron, the shock began to wane and she felt very afraid. What if the door didn't open to a manor at all, but instead a pit of flames that they tossed her into? What if—

But her imagination got the best of her, for when the door was open she could see a great hall just beyond the figure silhouetted by the torchlights, not a wall of fire and brimstone. The darkened shape was humanoid, but as her eyes were dazzled between the waning light outside and the bright shining within, she couldn't make out any individual features. Her stoic companion didn't seem fazed by the light, though. He called a command to the dogs in a foreign tongue, and they obediently backed away and gave enough room for him to swing down from the steed.

Seras was unceremoniously dragged off the horse too when she tarried on its back, trying to see further into the manor over the figure in the doorway. She was set on her feet and wobbled, her legs unsteady from the ride. She put a hand on the horse to right herself and it let out a hot breath into her face, nostrils flaring. She backed away, eyes wide. It seemed more impatient than the tired old mare at home.

"Come." It was the first word spoken to her since she had offered her life to the demon knight, and while it sounded cold it wasn't altogether harsh. It seemed more like he was simply used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Seras faltered a moment, but it was either follow or be dragged in, and she refused to die without her dignity intact.

As her eyes grew adjusted to the light, she saw that the great hall was divided into two corridors, one flickering with firelight while the smell of smoked meat wafted from the other. She wondered if her uncle had stood in the exact same place as she, and wondered about this foreign world. It was quite unlike her one-room cottage in the village.

"Welcome back, Sire." The words, spoken in the calm and cool manner of the aristocracy, made her turn around. It was the same way the lord's son spoke, the one time he'd ever addressed her for anything. Of course, this man wasn't speaking to _her_ , but to her armored host. "All things are ready," he continued, "just as you requested."

He was far shorter than the demon king, coming only to the man's shoulders though he was still taller than Seras. His hair was brown and as wavy as the demon's twisted mane, but it was neatly combed and rested beneath a very fashionable hat.

His tunic reached to the floor like a cleric's, but it matched the elaborate dye of his hat and was trimmed with ermine fur. Seras guessed that if she were to touch it, she would find that it was made of silk instead of linen like her own meager clothing. He had golden rings on his fingers that matched the shining buttons sewn into his flowing garments.

His eyes were the same reddish glow in the firelight as his master's. His face was pointed and sallow, with rigid cheekbones and high-arched eyebrows. Seras didn't think he looked very handsome, but he held a certain stately air about him all the same, as if he were a scholar or philosopher. He caught her staring and frowned, looking as though he'd never met such a distasteful creature as her in all his years. She stared on steadily, not deterred by his off-putting attitude.

"Sire, if I may be so bold as to ask… what is _that_?" He pointed a long, bony finger at her. The knight regarded her for a moment before moving towards the stairs that separated the two corridors. Seras was almost afraid he wouldn't speak, but his tone rang out in the silence of the room as he began to ascend.

"Take care of her. I expect dinner on the table in an hour." And with that, he was gone.

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 **Afterword:** Next chapter out on June 13th!


	3. Dressing with Nettie

The man looked after him with a sigh, and then turned to Seras once more, his eyes roving over her meager dress and tousled hair. She stood straighter under his attentions, biting her lip as she waited. Would this man be the one to kill her? When the demon king said "Take care of her" and that "dinner should be on the table in an hour", did he mean for this man to roast her body and serve her for their supper? It would be hard to have her flesh ready in a mere hour, but if this was a house of demons they might use otherworldly fires that could cook faster with dark magic.

"So, you came in off the forest, I suppose?" he said at length. Seras was confused as to his meaning, but then she realized he thought she had wandered out of the forest and beseeched the demon king for aid. She colored at the thought—no respectable woman would be in the woods, especially at night! She was no harlot, and most definitely not a godless thief's daughter!

"I did not!" she exclaimed, making the man's eyes widen. Surely, like the king, he was astounded at her lack of decorum. "That man," she continued, pointing towards the stairs, "tried to kill my uncle this eve. I offered my life for his, since I was the first thing out of the gate on the day of my uncle's return." She faltered, unsure if she should have told the truth; after all, a whore might have gotten a meal before being killed. But the man didn't move to slice her throat; instead, he blinked at her soundlessly before sighing again and nodding.

"Well, that does change things," he admitted. He looked about him and she froze, but he only yanked his robes out of the way with one hand and moved towards the darkened corridor. " _NETTIE_!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, and Seras nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't been expecting him to do that! Who was Nettie?

Her question was answered all too quickly as a burly woman came striding up out of the darkness. Seras felt her mouth drop; she'd never seen a woman so _fat_. Even the ladies of the manor, who'd never had to lift a finger in their lives, were not as flabby as this woman. Her arms were as thick as Seras' waist, and the girl doubted that her body could have fit through the front door. But unlike the plump grand ladies who laid about on cushions and sweated delicately, this woman moved her weight like a weapon and was clearly no stranger to hard work.

"What's it now?" the woman grunted in a rough, yet surprisingly feminine voice. "Callin' at this 'our when ye know supper's no' done." The man jerked his head at Seras and the woman followed his gaze, looking at her appraisingly before shaking her head. "Ah, no ye don'. I've enough help 'n the back, 'n she's too scrawny for scullery work."

"No, no," the genteel man waved his bony hands. "This is… ah, your name?" he asked her over his shoulder.

"Seras of Victoria, niece of Tobias," she answered in her best "town" voice, with a curtsy.

"Seras of Victoria, yes, yes…" the man waved her curtsy aside as he turned back. "The master saw fit to bring her here personally." He cleared his throat significantly and jerked his head again. "I need you to take care of her… _upstairs_. Someone else can finish your work."

"Ah, tis so?" the woman looked at Seras again, this time with a more friendly light. "'s good as well, then. Come along, chickadee." She marched forward and grabbed ahold of Seras' arm, half-dragging her towards the stairs. "Let's go 'n get it over with so's I can get back to me regular work." Seras looked back towards the man, but he'd disappeared. She was confused until she saw the edge of an ermine robe flicking around a corner, and then the landing above made it impossible to see anything on the lower floor.

Seras felt her heart drop into her stomach as she looked upstairs. The upper landing was darkened, and the woman made her wait on the top stair as she disappeared into the gloom. It was eerily quiet, the upstairs windows were shuttered against any light from outside, and she was sure that the woman would come back and kill her. After all, they had to "get it over with quickly", and supper _was_ supposed to be finished in an hour. She returned, carrying not a blade, but a candle. She motioned for Seras to come and took her to a room at the end of a long hall.

"Tis yer room now, chickadee. Don' get many visitors no how. Tis roomy enough, I think. A little sparse, but if ye make friends wi' the master than 'm sure he'll get ye pretty baubles enough." Seras was confused, looking around as the woman bade her hold the candle and lit a fire in the grate. Were they not going to kill her after all? It would be silly to give a dead woman a room of her own.

"Ex-excuse me," she piped up hesitantly, wondering why she was even bothering opening her mouth. "I was under the impression that I was giving up my life for my uncle's… am I not going to die?" The woman's eyes widened, but she shook her head, her kerchief sliding to the side and revealing an ash-brown bun. In the light of the grate, Seras could see that the woman's eyes were almost as green as Father Anderson's, and not red at all. Something inside her bubbled in relief—maybe humans were allowed here after all, though living beside demons would be quite frightening.

"Nay, none o' that, I believe," the woman replied. "If'n the master had wanted ye dead, he'd 'ave done it then 'n there instead o' takin ye back here." She looked at a tiny knickknack sitting on the mantle. Seras had never seen anything like it before—it had a glass face and lines all around the sides, and two long hands pointing to them, and underneath a large brass mast swung back and forth with a slow, comforting sound. "'s too late to give 'er a proper wash," the woman muttered to herself. "A quick scrub will 'ave to do."

Before Seras could think, the woman had grabbed her with her strong, thick arms and sat her down before the grate. A wet cloth was rubbed all over her face, arms, and legs until her skin felt raw. Her hair was combed out (a little more gently than she was used to) and then she was standing again as the woman fished about in a large trunk before pulling out a role of shimmering fabric.

"Tis a bit large, but I believe it may work," she said, laying it over a stool and forcing Seras to strip. "The master'll see to it that ye get new clothing; 'll tell 'im meself about it. He'n glean the workings of the house between me 'n the steward, 'n so he usually listens if'n I tell 'im some'at." Seras didn't respond immediately, her mind caught between discerning the woman's rougher dialect and being tossed about this way and that as the woman ran the cleaning cloth over her exposed breasts and stomach.

"Is—is the man downstairs the steward?" Seras finally asked when her mind slowed enough to form a question. The woman had already taken the shimmering fabric (which turned out to be an undershirt, though much softer and better tailored than Seras' old linen cloth) and thrown it over the girls head along with a breast-band. Now she had a pair of slightly-too-large hose on her legs and was fastening the garters with skilled, sure fingers.

"Oh, aye. 'Es really Earl of Marsden, but 'e acts as steward for the master. 'Es a singular person, t'be sure, but 'e and the master took me in when I 'ad nowhere else t' go. I'll always be grateful for it." She then procured a woolen tunic with a gusset down the front and back. Once she put it on, Seras noticed the cuffs were adorned in stitching rivaling those of the manor ladies. She turned to the firelight to admire the needlework and nearly suffocated when the woman threw and silk overtunic on her head without looking to see where the girl had gone.

"So you're partial to feel gratitude for demons?" Seras managed to gasp, finding her way out of the heavy material and letting it settle around her feet. It was a magnificent blue that was halfway between the color of sky and sapphires. The woman slung a gilded belt over her hips, golden and shining, and then moved behind to grab some cloth hanging from the back of the overtunic. One sharp tug later told Seras that those were laces, made to be done up so that the tunic didn't fall shapelessly like the one she wore in the village.

"Demons? Who says they're demons?" the woman replied absently as she focused on the laces. "No, the master is strange enough, but I assume tha's because 'es from the Continent. 'E looks a bit wild and 'es ruthless at times, but 'es a good master and 'es certainly no' a demon." Seras couldn't see how a man who would willingly take another's life over a mouthful of bread could be a good master, but she wisely kept quiet on the subject—mostly because breathing quickly became difficult with the laces, tighter on her chest than any breast-band could be. But… if the man with the eyes of coal and stone heart wasn't a demon… then what was he, that he'd look so otherworldly?

The woman fastened a golden chain around her neck and then stood back to look at her before nodding. She led Seras to a corner lit by the candle; Seras blinked as she saw a large pane of reflective glass—looking glasses were highly rare, due to the expensive nature, but she'd seen herself in one before, a long time ago.

She knew what she looked like, from her own experience as well as glancing into a body of water from time to time to see the wavering reflection staring back at her. The last time she'd seen a looking glass, she'd been twelve or so, and the traveling faire had come through. One of the Gypsy's covered carts had stood open to air out, and from the outside Seras had caught the reflection of a skinny young girl with dirt-smudged cheeks and cropped blonde hair.

She had the sudden notion that her aunt and uncle wouldn't recognize her now. She was as clean as she'd ever been—barring a bath or a dip in the river—and now she was dressed in finery the likes of which she'd only imagined before. Even London ladies didn't dress so well; this sort of beauty belonged in a castle, and not on her body. She barely touched the edge of the blue silk with her fingers, feeling very self-conscious. A knot appeared in her throat and she swallowed hard, knowing that she'd trade the luxuries on her body away in a heartbeat if it meant she could go home.

"Well," the woman said as she glanced at the strange object on the mantle again. Its two hands had moved, one to point at the sky while the other still hung about near the bottom. "'s time for dinner."

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 **Author's Note:** Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one is a pretty long one, so stay tuned! It'll be out a week late, due to my schedule, so look for it on the 27th instead of the 20th.


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